


0 - The Fool

by triptychings



Series: The Major Arcana [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Family deaths, Gen, Gore, Violence, and also not canon at all, because of his arm and leg like thats canon im not that extra, but not not canon, its gorey, just a warning, like we dont know, more than canon typical violence, so i made something up, yeah its pretty messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triptychings/pseuds/triptychings
Summary: Upright: Beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spiritReversed: Naivety, foolishness, recklessness, risk-taking





	

It was so dark. It was hard to breathe. He felt pain and nothing at all, all at once. He couldn’t feel his right arm, but he was sure it was moving just the same as his left. We never really think about our movements that much, right? He tried to lift up his torso. He was wrong. It was hard to see, but he could see enough. Or rather, not enough. One hand. Painted in a blend of blood and ash. There was one hand. His arm gave out from under him from the imbalance, the weight shifting as his elbow hit the ground, keeping himself up with his forearm. 

The smell was practically unbearable, the smoke was thick. There was that metallic, tangy smell of blood, and the gut-wretching scent of singed flesh. If he focused long enough, he could smell dinner on the table, ready, waiting, and burnt to ash. It was just supposed to be a nice dinner, the whole family was together, who would’ve thought something like this would happen?

He needed to find them, to make sure they were okay. He tried to pull himself forward, to his feet, but the pain seared through his body like a nasty brand. He couldn’t move. Twisting his torso, barely keeping himself up with the imbalance from his missing hand, he was able to turn enough to see the bookcase, heavy on his legs. And a pink shirt. His sister’s shirt. Oh no. No, no, no. He had to get to her. The bookcase was lighter on one of his legs and, painstakingly, he managed to pull it out, chunks of splintered wood coming along with it, lodged into his skin. His other leg, on the other hand, was quite stuck. He didn’t know it was also hanging on by a thread. In the heat of the moment, his head throbbing from an impact, he decided he’d just have to suck it up and pull it out. Using his other foot to push, propped against the top of the bookcase, he pulled himself forward--and severed his leg right from his hip. He couldn’t even feel it.

Okay. No right arm, no right leg. Great. But his sister. He needed to get to her, he needed to check on her, even though he hadn’t even checked on himself yet, really. She couldn’t be gone, she just couldn’t. Too much thinking. Okay. He had to move and the only real option seemed to be dragging himself. It might have been the pain, starting to seep through his dwindling state of shock. Or maybe he really just wasn’t as strong as he thought he was. Or maybe he was scared. Yeah. That was it. It took longer than it should have and why? He was scared of what he might find.

He was scared of what he found.

The skin on one side of her face was completely gone, and where skin remained, bone shards peeked through where her skull had been smashed in. Half of her shirt was melted, the white from the graphic design on the front forming a sticky plastic welded to her stomach. In her hand was another. And seeing his mother’s wedding ring on a detached hand made Jamison wretch, barely keeping himself up.

He took a moment to grieve, to weep, to hold his sister and to remove his mother’s wedding ring. He felt his sister’s bones crumble to ash and slip through his fingers, scattered around the floor. And he never found the rest of his mother.

Well what now? Obviously he couldn’t stay here forever and rot away with his sister and mother, no matter how badly he wanted to. It was a struggle, with only one arm and one leg, but he someone managed to clean his wounds and create a makeshift prosthetic for his leg out of a bed frame that partially survived the blast. He was dizzy, and his head was throbbing from the radiation, but he had no time to rest, he didn’t even know if he would survive falling asleep. He knew what he had to do. If he was able to survive, surely he couldn’t be the only one. Someone from Omnium must’ve survived. He’d have to get there. He’d find someone, make them fix him up. If they can make robots, he was sure they could make him a new arm and leg. And then he would show them his mother’s wedding ring, he would tell them how he found his sister, let them know what they’ve done. And then he’d put an end to them.

He didn’t like them anyways, those tin can makers. Armed with homemade explosives and iodine for his pain, when he arrived, there was only one person left. His first kill. Not as Jamison Fawkes, but as Junkrat. The explosion was beautiful, the brightest colours he had ever seen. 

Jamison Fawkes had died with his mother and sister. The criminal Junkrat was left in his place with a grin and a screeching laugh. And he was a king! Other junkers hunted him, wanted the secrets he had, the technology and the game got boring. He wanted something bigger, he wanted a new start again. Out of this dump.

He giggled. This was the beginning of a new life, of a new world. There were others around, scavenging around. They called themselves the junkers, and he proudly declared himself one of them. He personally preferred exploring the Omnium ruins, something others feared because of the extensive radiation risk. But for Junkrat? It was a paradise, it aided him, it made him forget. It twisted his mind into its own bomb, and grew his passion, his obsession.

This new society was completely anarchical. It was cutthroat, it was dangerous, it was a thrill. He made friends, he made enemies, he made profit. He made a discovery, and then he made a deal. 

He was the king of the Junkers, and nothing would stand in his way. Soon, the whole world would know his name.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This is part one. Or work one. I'm doing them as separate works in a series and not separate chapters because I can. Comments are appreciated! I'm still super new to ao3.


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